Dragon Dance
by LissaB
Summary: Hop Sing adjusts to his first year with the Cartwright family.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I wrote this story for a Bonanza Convention magazine, so it is short, to correspond to the required word limit. It is my only story written from Hop Sing's POV, and writing it was a revelation._

_It seemed appropriate to start posting it today, eve of Chinese New Year 2012, Year of the Dragon: not only because of the title and subject matter, but also because the late Pernell Roberts was born in the Year of the Dragon._

_For those who like to know these things, I use the actors' actually birthdays for the Cartwrights, so in my stories Joe is born in October, Hoss in December, Ben in February, and Adam in May. To figure years of birth I worked with the dates shown in some of the intro scenes in early episodes (remember San Francisco 1850?) and the ages Dortort assigned first season: 18 for Joe, 24 for Hoss, and 30 for Adam, and calculate from there. And since Dortort put six years between sons it worked out very neatly with the twelve year cycles of Chinese astrology. :)_

_Aside from the math challenges, I did a ton of research for this little story and I learned more than I could have imagined, so it remains close to my heart._

Dragon Dance

"Still snowing."

"Is winter. Snow in winter only natural."

I know this is not what he mean, and he knows I know. Is my way of telling him not to worry so much. So much worry not good for little boys. But he worry anyway. Is his way. He continue to stare through open shutter. By his wrinkled forehead, I know his thoughts are dark.

"When's Pa comin' home?"

He glance down at small figure in customary place at elbow. "Pretty soon," he say automatically. "Soon as the snow lets up a little."

"What if it never lets up?" There is suggestion of quaver in little voice, and he turn to give him full attention.

"Of course it will. Don't be silly. It's only been two days."

The round blue eyes look some reassured, but shadow still linger there. "Will Ma be all right?"

This time he crouch down so they are eye to eye. Well, almost. The little one grow so fast — will not be long before he does not need to bend down at all.

"You know what?" he suggest with sudden smile. "It's time for me to feed the animals. Want to come?"

"Yes!" The little one — a big little one — clap his hands in delight. He so pleased that he does not notice his question goes unanswered.

"All right." With efficiency of long practice, he is already wrapping younger one in his muffler and buttoning coat. "But you have to promise to hold tight to me. We're going to use the rope to get to the barn."

"I'll hold the rope!"

"You're too small." For now. By next year, plenty big. "Hang tight to me. Promise me, Hoss, or you stay here."

"All right." Hoss a little disgruntled, but, with his sunny nature, does not last long. He sit obediently while boots are pushed on feet, then offers hands for mittens.

"Wait for me."

Of course, Hoss does. Proceeding without his idol unthinkable. I watch to be sure all are bundled warmly.

"Hats," I remind sternly.

Older brother nod.

Younger brother nod in imitation.

I work hard to hide smile. "Check for eggs."

Older brother nod again. _So serious_.

Younger brother smile. _So sunny. _

"Do not get too wet. Catch cold."

"Right. C'mon, Hoss."

A rush of cold as door open, and I shiver, then watch the two figures, suddenly looking very small, become dark blurs in cyclone of snow and wind.

Such cold. I am not used to cold; it has not been part of my history — not in San Francisco, despite foggy air; not in Canton, where air is warm and moist.

I do not like.

Missy Cartwright, she also is not used to cold. Where she comes from it is hot and moist too, like Canton. We laugh about it. Or we did. Before she grew ill. I shake my head. Cold is not good for those of us with heat in our blood. I sometimes wonder what brought me here. Perhaps she does, too.

_No_.

I move to kitchen to check fire in stove and set kettle to boil. Some tea. Good for Missy Cartwright. Good for me, too.

No, Missy Cartwright know why she is here — this is her new family. Missa Ben. The little boys — Missa Adam and the little Hoss. I smile. The not-so-little Hoss. And the tiny one. Missy Cartwright's health not so good after the tiny one is born — and then this cold. Very bad. Why anyone want to live way out here? I ask myself.

I know why I am really sulking and scold myself very hard.

_Foolishment_.

Pouting for silly things is childish with Missy Cartwright ill and Boss Cartwright gone to village for doctor. Snow come very fast, very hard — keep him from getting back. Many of the men try to go to him — no good. But Missa Cartwright is safe in village, of this I am very sure. Say many prayers for this, burn much good incense.

Kettle sing loudly, and I jump up and fix tray. Much to do. No time for foolishment.

Missy Cartwright is quiet. I think she is no worse. No better, maybe, but no worse.

The tiny one wails, and I pick him up. _Damp. _This one always damp.

I smile. Very tiny, but very good lungs. Strong. Calls loudly for what he needs. This is good. Many sons, Ben Cartwright. Very lucky.

I jiggle the tiny one and take him downstairs so he does not disturb the missy. I change him and settle him in basket by stove with cloth dipped in sugar water to suck on. He coos loudly. Never quiet, that one. I smile.

Then frown, counting days in my head. So much snow. There will be no trip to Virginia City as I planned. I knew there would be no San Francisco this year, but I had hoped for Virginia City. Many Chinese there. Fine celebration. I have a few things from San Francisco, carefully stored away to help celebrate. Missa Cartwright agreed.

But then, Missy Cartwright ill. The snow. I frown very hard at window. Perhaps it will stop. Perhaps, at least, I will see Lantern Festival. I will not admit, even to myself, sore spot in my heart at thought of New Year passing unblessed, uncelebrated. Not in whole life have I ever imagined such a thing. Not in the many, many generations of my family has such a thing ever happened. Unthinkable.

Angry with self. Such foolishment.

_There are things you cannot do alone, of course, but many that you can. You have no debts to settle — this is good. No grievances to ask forgiveness for. You can clean house, top to bottom — sweep out old luck. Repair clothes. The important things, the sacred things, remain. Of course, there is no one to wish you Gueng Huei Fa Zuai. But you can wish it to others in your heart. _

Determined, I go to mending basket and look — much to do here. Those boys. Always torn, always growing. Already Missa Adam's wrists hang out of his jacket sleeves and little Hoss's coat stretches tight across shoulders. I pull out one of Missa Ben's shirts and shake my head. Missa Ben almost as bad. Not for growing, of course, but for tearing. I start to mend with diligence. I am so intent, the tiny one is so quiet, is shock to hear front door bang open.

So loud, this family! I push open kitchen door to look. Both boys are covered with snow, laughing and dropping it in great puddles all over my freshly washed floor.

"What you thinking?" I scold. "You crazy? Leave snow on porch!"

"Sorry, Hop Sing." Missa Adam steer little Hoss back outside and brush snow from him. They not seem very afraid of my scolding. Still, is good to hear them laugh. Not much laughter in this house these days. Not good to enter New Year so somber.

I watch, keeping face very stern, while they shake off snow.

_New Year_.

We are entering Year of the Tiger. It will be my first year in this wilderness, this land of savages. Missa Adam will turn 12 in New Year. He will have lived his first full cycle — a tiger boy. Fierce. Sometimes quiet, hidden, purring like a kitten. But the fierce tiger is always there, underneath. Missa Hoss has just turned six. A ram. Very steady, but likes his comforts — his food, especially. Very much, his food.

This reminds me. What am I thinking? "Come in, come in. Enough. You freeze." I gesture them inside, take basket with few pitiful eggs from Missa Adam. Even hens do not like this cold. "I make you hot chocolate. You sit by fire, get warm."

I shove door closed against wind and gesture them to fire. The tiny one sets up roar. I roll my eyes.

"I'll get him." Missa Adam pushes his way into kitchen and returns carrying squirming bundle, now making happy noises at his brother. Missa Adam very easy with babies, though young — makes my heart smile and hurt at same time.

Hoss run over to peek at tiny brother.

"By fire," I remind them, very stern. "I bring chocolate."

They are playing by fire, all three boys, when I return. I pick up tiny one so they can enjoy their chocolate without worry of him spilling and burning self.

Missa Adam keep looking at me, and I know he want to ask about Missy Cartwright but not want to remind Hoss.

"All is fine," I say, to let him know I know. "I think maybe fatha home soon."

"Not while it's snowing like this," Missa Adam correct me, blowing on cocoa. "He can't ride in this. Jake and Burl tried, and they couldn't get anywhere."

"Fatha very clever man. Do many things that will surprise."

"Pa can do anything," Little Hoss agree loyally.

Missa Adam look doubtful, but keep his peace.

I come across shirt with whole elbow torn out and hold up to show. "What you do here?" I demand in exasperation. "How you expect me fix this?"

Missa Adam bend forward to look. "Oh. I tore that on a nail in the barn."

"Maybe you kin cut the sleeves out fer summer," little Hoss suggest brightly.

I stare at him. "Very warm shirt for summer," I point out. _Still_. I look at Missa Adam. Probably sleeves already too short anyway. "Well. Fine dust rag. Or maybe keep as flannel for wrapping hot bricks or mustard plasters."

Missa Adam make face at mention of mustard plasters, but say nothing.

I find pair of trousers, both knees torn out, and throw up hands. "What you boys do on knees? How I ever finish all this mending in time for New Year?"

Missa Adam lower his cup. "New Year's is over," he point out.

I had not meant to say aloud. "Not American New Year," I explain gruffly. "Chinese New Year."

"When's Chinese New Year?"

I sigh. That one — always questions. "In few days — three — it start." I watch him do calculation in head.

"How come Chinese New Year is January 28th and American New Year is January First?"

More questions. Of course. "Chinese New Year not like American, same day every year. Chinese New Year come on first day of lunar new year. We follow nature, not calendar."

Missa Adam look thoughtful, and I know there will be no ending conversation now. "The Indians do that, too."

"Ah, so?" I think, _Maybe not such savages after all._

"What do you do for Chinese New Year? Do you drink a toast at midnight?" He has finished cocoa and reaches to relieve me of the tiny one so my hands are free to sort mending.

"No, no — is very different. Everything must be made new. Start fresh. You must enter New Year with no debts. No old arguments unsettled. No corners unclean." I hold up pair of trousers, torn through pocket — Missa Ben's this time. "No tears in clothing — your luck may leak away through holes."

Big little Hoss look up from where he is poking finger at tiny one. "That kin happen? Yer luck can git out through holes in yer pockets?"

Missa Adam laugh. "He's teasing you, Hoss."

"Is true," I say firmly. "Holes in pockets, your power can drain out. Very unlucky."

Missa Adam is silent. He has been brought up to be polite, but is his nature to question. I watch his nature and his upbringing struggle in his face.

Hoss is frowning. "Does yer luck get out yer button holes?"

I shake my head. "Is different."

Hoss creep closer. "How?"

"Just is."

He lean against my leg. "Tell me what else you do fer New Year's."

I fold one pair trousers for scrap pile, thinking. "After we clean house, we paint window frames red — very lucky. And we hang pine over door for long life and riches. Paint rhymes on paper and hang by door with good wishes for New Year. Decorate with flowers. Flowers opening on first day of New Year very lucky omen."

Hoss settle his head on my knee. "What do you eat?"

I smile. _Food. Always food. _I reach down to smooth fine bangs off his forehead. _Need haircut. _If we cannot get to town, maybe I cut. "Many very special foods. Big feast on evening before first day. Each food has special meaning. Noodles for long life. Oranges for riches. Dumplings for many sons. A tray of sweets so New Year full of sweet things."

"Pa must have ate some of them dumplings," Hoss say, very serious.

Missa Adam laugh.

Hoss look at him, not understanding what is funny. "I like the sound of them sweets. What else?"

I pull out some socks and start to mend — very worn, barely worth effort, but must not waste. "Many things. Big celebration. Fireworks and firecrackers at midnight — light up sky."

"What's fireworks?"

I wrinkle my forehead. "Big noise — big color — wah! Light like stars in sky. You never see?"

Missa Adam shake head. "Think I've heard of them, though."

"Very beautiful. Scare away evil spirits."

Missa Adam look skeptical but hold his tongue.

"You got evil spirits in China?" Missa Hoss ask.

"Evil spirits everywhere."

Hoss look at Missa Adam. "What d'we use here to keep evil spirits away, Adam?"

Missa Adam shrug. "Guns." I give him firm look, and he look away from my eye. "Well, how can lights in the sky keep away evil? It's just superstition."

I put down my mending and hold his eyes with mine. "Missa Adam. Chinese tradition thousands and thousands of year old. America not even one hundred. Sound strange, maybe, but possible we know something you not know?"

I watch his face and see he is thinking about this seriously, rubbing in absentminded way at the tiny one's back.

I smile. "Festival last fifteen day. Toward last day, we light red lanterns in every door, and the dragon dance in street."

"Dragon!" Missa Hoss sit up, mouth a round "o" of surprise. "Does it breathe fire? Do you slay it?"

"Slay!" Now I stare. "What is _'slay'_?"

"Kill," Missa Adam explain. The tiny one whimper, and he drape him on his shoulder and bounce him.

I am amazed. "Kill! Why kill?"

Missa Hoss stare back. "'Cause they're bad. In the stories Adam reads me, the dragon scares people, and so the hero kills it."

I raise eyebrows at Missa Adam. "So?"

He shrug again. "That's what all the stories say."

I think for minute. "Perhaps American dragon bad. Chinese dragon very wise, very powerful — great protector of the people. The dragon dance in street to protect village from …" I try to find American word for what I want to say. I look again at Missa Adam. "Great sickness? Many people?"

Missa Adam frown. "Epidemic?"

I nod. "Maybe this. Dragon dance to protect village from great sickness. Of course, is not real dragon — is many boys in long cloth. First boy carry dragon head. Look like dragon — bring protection of dragon."

Missa Adam's face thoughtful now. "The Indians do something like that, too."

"So?" _Hm. Perhaps not very savage at all._ I unbend just little bit. "Maybe is superstition, maybe real. Either way, why take chance? What harm?"

Missa Adam nod.

Little Hoss tug at my trouser. "What else do ya do?"

"What else?" I think. "First evening, very important. Entire family gather for big meal. Stay up all night — little ones with firecracker, older ones play Mah Jong. Wish each other '_Kung-shi_.'"

"_Kung-shi_?" Missa Hoss repeat. Sound like sneezing, way he say it. We all laugh, even the tiny one. "Even the kids like me stay up late?" He puff up a bit. "I stayed up till midnight fer New Year's."

"You fell asleep," Missa Adam correct.

Missa Hoss look indignant. "I woke back up!"

"To go to bed."

I interrupt quickly. "Little ones stay up all night, too. Very important. Legend say the later children stay up on eve of New Year, longer life have their parents."

Missa Adam look like he want to ask something, but stop and pat tiny one's back instead. Face very thoughtful, guarded. I watch him for minute, but there is no reading what he is thinking. Very good at hiding his heart, this one.

Missa Hoss tug again at my trouser. "What else do you have to eat?"

We all laugh.

Tiny one fuss, and Missa Adam feel his bottom. "He's wet. I'd better change him."

"Time he nap anyway. You put down with Missy?"

He give me grateful look.

I know he has been wanting excuse to check on Missy. Then, to distract little Hoss, I add, "Maybe you can set table for Hop Sing? Dinner very soon."

Big little Hoss jump up and take mending basket from me. "Hop Sing, kin you fix us some of them dumplings and stuff sometime?"

I smile at him. This one just the opposite — heart never hidden, worn in full sight where anyone can bump or bruise. "Maybe. Need some special tastes for them, though — maybe find in Virginia City."

"You can find everything in Virginia City. It's big."

I sigh. To his young eyes, maybe. To mine, not everything — not everything at all.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I open my eyes to darkness and listen.

Is it the tiny one that has woken me? The past seven days, while Missy so sick, he sleep in my room at night, not to disturb her. But, no, he is not awake or crying — he make no noise except for sounds he make while sleeping. I smile. Never quiet, that one.

I check to be sure he is warm and covered, then move very softly into big room. The room is dark but for banked embers of fire, air chilly. Probably I should check on Missy Cartwright anyway, see if there is any change. I go back to room for lantern, turn very low and walk toward stairs — very stealthy.

I frown at sight of white bundle on stairs — did someone leave clothes there? Very bad habit. Very messy — dangerous, too. Must see who and scold tomorrow. I climb to landing and reach for bundle of clothes, then stop, startled. I place lantern on step and crouch down close.

"Missa Adam."

The bundle of clothes stir, then jump awake, also startled. He see my face and is confused — then slowly place himself, rubbing fists in eyes.

"What you doing here? Why you not in bed? Is freezing!"

"Oh." He look toward big room. "What time is it?"

"What time? Very late! Time for you to be in bed!"

He look at me but does not move.

I touch his hand. _Ice_.

"Up — up!" I shoo him downstairs, see with horror his feet are bare. "Go to kitchen — is warmer. Will make you something warm to help sleep."

I see him look at clock as he pass by, then shrug. He look defeated. "Okay."

I shake my head. Never understand this one. "Grab blanket!" I point to knitted blanket on big chair. "Wrap self!"

He pick up blanket and tuck it under arm.

"Said wrap self!" I hiss as loudly as I dare. Mustn't wake others. Very late.

He sigh, but wrap blanket around shoulders.

I follow back downstairs. Will check Missy when I follow him back up.

I find him in kitchen, stoking stove fire. I position kettle, go to pantry to look for restful tea and two cups. What kind of foolish people drink tea at this late time?

I find tea that seem good and bring two cups. He is perched on chair edge, staring at flames through stove door.

"Wrap feet," I say automatically. "What you thinking, up so late?"

He does not answer but does wrap feet, so I know he is listening. More gently then, I say, "Worrying will not bring fatha home sooner — will not make Missy Cartwright well."

He is very quiet. "What's wrong with Marie?" he ask at last.

I shrug. "Fever. Much weakness. Not very strong yet after baby."

"Is she going to die?"

_Ai, ya. How to answer?_

I search his face and his eyes tell me that he does not want lie — even kind lie.

"Who can say?" I admit at last. Kettle sing, and I busy myself there, pouring water into pot. The steam grows quickly fragrant.

"That's how my mother died."

I squeeze my eyes shut, closing out steam and sadness both, shimmering before me like veil.

Have I heard this? Maybe — whispers, maybe. I cannot recall for sure. I do not force myself into private corners of other lives, not even Boss Cartwright's — not polite. I open my eyes and turn to study still, pale face before me. Small wonder heart is hidden — bumped and bruised too many times, maybe. I wipe spout carefully and begin to pour tea, thinking what to say.

"Some women die this way, of course," I offer slowly. "But some do not. Most do not."

He is silent.

"Missa Hoss's motha — she not die of his birth?"

He shake head.

"And Missa Hoss very big baby. Born where?"

"On the prairie. In a wagon."

"See? And still motha live."

He nod, all still but hands - those busy, twisting blanket over and over. "She died a little later, though. Shot with an arrow. Indians."

The wind whistle very loud, trying to get in. Wakes tiny one, who howls along with wind. I leave tea to go to him. Lift him still in blanket, making shushing noises. He is dry — maybe hungry. Or maybe he know of what we are talking. I rub his back — give myself some minutes before returning to Missa Adam, my heart aching so fiercely — howling inside, like the wind.

What kind of place is this that steal away little boys' mothers? Steal away a man's Chinese-ness? Leave nothing but the harsh climate, always greedy, always demanding more from those who stay in it? Why anyone want to live out here?

I settle my face to return to kitchen. Grieving will not help Missa Adam sleep — he has seen enough grieving. Will not settle the tiny one, either.

I enter kitchen, and tiny one glance around, eyes bright. See brother and wave fists in hello, then stuff one fist into mouth and coo. I chuckle. Maybe just hungry. Or maybe just want to stay up, too — very sociable, this one, hate to be left out. I hold him so he can see better.

"Big noises," I say. "Tiny, but strong."

Missa Adam grin at me, then at brother.

I check to see if tea is cold, picking through my words with care. "I think Missy Cartwright have some sickness of the cold weather," I suggest. "Something many people get. I think I hear many people in Virginia City have. Docta come with fatha. He will know how to fix." I know he not convinced, so I hand him cup. "Drink. Get warm."

He sip at tea. "This is good." He sound surprised. "What is it?"

"Chrysanthemum tea. You never have?"

He shake head.

"Very common in China."

"Tell me more about China. About Chinese New Year."

I pick up my cup and sit down, tiny one on my lap.

Why not? He need to listen; maybe I need to talk, to bring things closer, remember who I am. "Is most important of all Chinese celebrations. Seven day after New Year, everybody grow year older, together."

His forehead pucker. "Everybody can't have the same birthday."

I shake head. "Day born not count so much — not like here. Everything change, made new for everybody — all at same time. Is why so important that whole family start New Year together: Show unity in the year to come."

Missa Adam sip at tea. "What if they can't be together?"

I know he is thinking of father. "Then we set place at table so family not there not forgotten — there in spirit."

Missa Adam lean forward, thinking, elbows on knees.

I see his bare feet on floor. "Wrap feet!" I say sharply.

He pull feet quickly up.

"For first three days of New Year, not single cross word can be spoken. Very bad luck to start New Year with cross words."

His eyes grow round. "No scolding?"

"None. Not one word. Very unlucky."

He laugh little bit. "Boy, I'd like that. 'Cept Pa'd prob'ly hurt himself keepin' it all inside."

I look knowing. "No mischief for three day either. Good discipline for everybody."

He make face. "Sometimes you don't know you're doing mischief 'til it's too late."

"True. So for New Year, you think very hard before you do."

He swallow tea, sipping slowly. "Tell me again about the dragon dance."

And so I tell — many thing, for long time — while wind wail and pound shutters, trying to get in. I talk and he listen and the tiny one gurgle.

Until most of the night is gone, we talk: the man with so much he is trying to remember, the boy with so much he is trying to forget.

_TBC_

_Thank you, Tauna!_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I am losing self.

This haunts me through next day, a bad day - Missa Adam and myself very tired after sleepless night — and now into next night. Tiny one fussy all day, but now he sleep hard. Wish I sleep hard, too. But sleep run ahead of me on fast feet so I cannot catch.

I throw back quilt and get up, go to my small altar, light candles, light incense.

For Missy Cartwright, still sick. For Missa Cartwright, still gone.

Is second time today — or maybe first time of new day — cannot tell if very late or very early. Candles dance and incense spiral, climbing up and up. I look at small dish of honey, glass of whiskey I place there earlier today, remember little Hoss entering just as I place them and light incense that first time, startling me.

"What are you doin'?"

Only one not cranky today little Hoss.

"Giving gifts to Kitchen God," I explain.

Giving gifts late … what kind of thing will Kitchen God have to report for this? What luck will he request for me in New Year? I light picture, and Kitchen God burn — _poof!_ — into ash.

Little Hoss stare, eyes big.

"You burned him," he whisper.

"Time for Kitchen God ascend to heaven."

Past time. Should have gone four days ago. So much to take care of — I forget this. Now perhaps Kitchen God angry — who knows? Report bad things, bad luck in New Year.

Little Missa Hoss rest his chin on table and sniff incense. "Maybe he'll meet my mama. Pa says she's in heaven."

_Ai_.

I reach down to rest hand on pale hair. Much too long hair — must cut.

"Maybe so," I say. My bad temper float up and away, like smoke from incense. "But Kitchen God not like people. He die every old year, come back with New Year. Watch who is good, who is not."

"Oh." The little Hoss screw up his eyes. "Pa says my mama watches ta see if I'm good."

I pat his shoulder, very brisk. Blow out candles but leave incense.

"Motha must be very happy then — see very good boy, I think."

"Really?" The little Hoss's face light like lantern.

"Yes, yes, of course, why not?" I gesture him ahead of me. "Why you standing here? You have nothing to do?"

Missa Hoss not discouraged. "Even after this mornin'?"

I wave my hands. "Was accident. All fixed now."

This morning start badly.

Missa Adam come in from tending animals, face pale; Hoss, of course, trailing behind. Missa Adam holding pail before him, very stiff.

I frown at them, trying to read faces. "So?"

Missa Adam swallow. "We lost a lot of the milk," he stammer. "The cow kicked …"

"I petted her," Missa Hoss say, voice very tiny. "And she kicked. I didn't know …"

"It wasn't your fault, Hoss." Missa Adam sound cross. "I should've warned you."

I take pail. Half full. "Is all?"

Missa Adam nod, very miserable.

Missy Cartwright not able to nurse the tiny one since she is ill; there is no _sau nai-nai_ — milk nurse. Women very scarce here, so milk important.

"Is there enough for Joe?"

I sigh. _Why everything hard here — why everything must be pulled by force from earth?_ I shrug. "We see."

Already top of milk is frozen on short trip from barn to house. I see Missa Adam's face and put down bucket.

"Missa Adam," I say, very firm.

He look up at me.

Too much worry, this one. "Your fatha — very strong man, yes? Very smart."

He nod, wondering, I think, why I tell him what he already know.

I nod back, holding his eyes with mine. "And yet fatha cannot stop snow and cold from making trouble. Why you think you, just small boy, can?"

He blink at me, silent — but thinking. I can see thinking.

I pat head roughly. "I know … oh, many tricks. Will make milk more — you see." His face take look of hope and I smile. "Need more wood. Maybe you chop for Hop Sing?"

He nod, happy to be busy, and start back outside.

"Hat!" I call after, to remind him. Little Hoss I keep with me and I visit pantry.

Missa Cartwright very good about winter supplies, so we have many things. I frown at them. Soy beans make good milk. Better for baby than cow milk anyway.

I pull out barrel and look at them. Make good mash for hens, too. Maybe if I heat they will forget cold and lay more. Wind whistle loudly and I shake my fist at it.

_You have not won. We are not beaten — not yet, not yet._

I sigh at memory, then jump at strange sound.

Candles flicker in sudden breath of cold air. I am very still.

_Door? _Is maybe Missa Cartwright…but…maybe …something else.

I look at tiny one, fast asleep, then look for weapon. I pick up pitcher from washstand — good for swinging, I think — and listen at my bedroom door.

I hear front door latch and move very stealthy into big room, haunting shadows, not to be seen. There is no moonlight — almost lunar New Year; there is no real moon even if sky was clear, and sky is not. Still stormy.

I hear the wind, see small piles of snow already melting where they blow in. I raise my pitcher, trying to see in darkness. See faint movement near door. Hear…small sniff.

I frown, hairs on my neck lying back down against each other, and lower pitcher.

Sniff sound …familiar. Young.

Angry now, I put down pitcher and walk to door, noticing lantern left on sideboard. I turn key and flame jump to life. Small figure jump, too.

"Missa Adam!" I hiss. Only my hope not to wake whole household keep me from yelling as I wish. "You crazy? What you thinking? What you doing outside after dark, all alone, so late?"

I see from his face that I am speaking what he cannot understand — am speaking Cantonese — and I press teeth against each other and struggle for American words.

"What you doing?" I squeeze right words finally past my anger and my fear.

He look at me with his tiger look — a tiger hidden in the trees, watching, not ready to show self. "Checking the animals."

I cannot help. I lose my American words again.

He stand and listen to me, face curious, puddle forming around feet.

I clutch at my hair. "Wet things off!" In American this time. "Now — now!"

He remove scarf and jacket, slow and orderly, then boots, set neatly.

"Enough, enough — finish upstairs! Then, under covers! I bring hot brick. Hurry! Now!"

He shrug and nod — oh, very cool about scaring me into next life!

I am calmer when finally I follow him with hot brick wrapped in flannel. Still angry, though. I do not want to wake Missy Cartwright who need her rest, but we must talk — serious talk.

I tuck hot brick under covers by feet and push quilt up around chin, then fold my arms — very stern. "Now, Missa Adam, I want you promise me. Never, never again go outside in storm alone after dark. Never."

He look at me, still hidden, watching, like tiger. "What if one of the animals needs care or something?"

"Then you get me. I go with."

"Then who'll stay with Marie and Hoss and Joe?"

"They be fine, short time. Or we get one of hands. Better than you wander into dark and maybe freeze."

"I wasn't going to freeze. I had the lead rope."

I hear my Cantonese again — this time just as well, as I am swearing.

"Never. I want you promise. What I tell fatha when he come home if something happen to you? 'So sorry, Missa Cartwright, number one son freeze like icicle and die or lost somewhere in cold, but could be worse — still have number two and number three son?' What you think he say back to me? 'I sorry too, Hop Sing, but next time — who knows? — maybe you lose other two boys as well. Too risky. Pack bag and go, please.'"

Missa Adam small face change — surprise now. "Pa wouldn't say that."

"No? I think he say, oh, much more! And what I say to him? How I explain my terrible shame? You want bring terrible shame to Hop Sing?"

His face show me I have found his weak side, and I am glad. Very dangerous thing he do. Must not happen twice. "I'm sorry, Hop Sing."

I nod. "Then promise me."

"I do. I promise."

"Good boy." I pat shoulder under quilt. "You sleep now. Very late. What you thinking?"

"What time is it?"

"What time? What time? Why always what time? Why you care? Too late time — later, even, I think, than last night. So sleep now."

His face light up, surprising me. "Really?"

I whisper prayer for patience in Chinese.

_Crazy, this one,_ I think. _Crazy child._

"Yes." Very stern now. "Sleep."

He does not tell me yes and he does not tell me no — just watches me with a tiger's eyes.

I blow out lamp and close door, shaking head. Morning soon — my bones tell me this is so.

I check Missy Cartwright now. Then maybe I light incense one more time.

This time, though, I pray to the Goddess of Mercy — pray for crazy son of Ben Cartwright.

_TBC_

_Thank you, Tauna. We'll see what happens with Marie!_

_And thank you, Sibylle. I couldn't tell whether you've read it before or not. If you haven't, there's still a few chapters to go. If you have, well, then you know that. :) You're right - this story has no real action and is more of a character study, so I was very moved that you liked it so much. It's not the sort of story I expect the average reader to love. Writers like their stories for very different reasons than readers do - more to do with challenges they faced or styles they experimented with or things they learned in the journey of writing that particular tale. This one was especially challenging in retaining Hop Sing's voice for a sustained period of time and in seeing the Cartwrights and the Ponderosa through his eyes. It made me see them through different eyes too, so I have great affection for it._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I have lost broom.

Not enough am losing self, now I losing other things, too. I look everywhere — not to be found.

This is bad. Almost last day to sweep out bad luck of old year. Tomorrow eve of New Year. No sweeping out then until after Lantern Festival — might sweep good luck of New Year away.

I open door and look on porch — maybe boys use broom to sweep snow away. But no sign. I wait there, looking.

Air very quiet after all the wind. Snow finally stop falling, leave world hushed and bright as diamond. Is beautiful, but I will not be fooled — will not forget the days of storm and cold that beat this land to diamond brightness.

I look at barn. I do not think boys know snow stopped yet. They play in barn all morning. Not too cold there — animals keep warm. Stay inside house much longer, go crazy. Me first, then them.

Jake and Burl come to me, say they try to make their way to town, look for Missa Ben. Roads covered with snow, though — slow travel.

Burl lower voice and look around. "Where-all's Adam?"

"Barn," I answer.

He nod. "Good. Don't tell him yet we're gone or he'll be wantin' ta come. Better if'n he stays here, case we find somethin' he oughtn't oughter see."

I nod, relieved. A good plan. "I will pack food. You wait."

They gone for hour now. Still no sign of boys. Must be very busy in barn - very quiet. This pluck at my stomach, and I frown.

Too quiet, maybe.

Boys never quiet — not for long. I look over shoulder, thinking.

Tiny one asleep. Missy Cartwright, too — little better today, I think — cooler. Make broth for lunch; maybe she eat.

I look back at barn. Wind quiet, boys quiet — just as I have wanted, but I am not happy. This not good — unnatural. I make decision and reach for coat and boots.

Path to barn need fresh shoveling. When I find what mischief boys in now I set Missa Adam to that. Lead rope still up, wrapped in ice. I near barn and still I hear no noise. Is worrying.

I pull hard on door — slow to move against pile of snow blown at foot — and fix on stern look, ready.

_Not_ ready.

Not know what I expect — but not this, not this.

I stop in door and stare and stare …how long? Hours? Minutes? Not know. Maybe I make sound - maybe something else — but suddenly all stop.

Still.

Quiet.

I see little Missa Hoss's head pop out — hair standing every end. _Must cut,_ I think, in daze.

He see me — smile his big, happy smile. "Hop Sing!" he crow like big-small bird. "Look at us! We're doin' a dragon dance fer Ma!"

Missa Adam's face come out now, too — not so fast, not so sure.

He look at me.

I look at him.

I close barn door, very slow, and walk to where they stand, taking thing from Missa Adam's hand.

_Well,_ I think to self, _here is my broom._

I turn it round and round, looking.

Red not good Chinese red — more red brown — maybe old paint for barn. Does not look like Chinese dragon — not really. But does not look like old broken well bucket on broom, either — no, not really.

I finger horns made of twisted branches, pieces of broken bottles that are eyes, stroke long pieces of cloth that hang like beard — Missy Cartwright missing some rags for making rugs, I think — and missing quilt from guest room, too.

Quilt not really dragon body, but fine dragon colors — red and yellow and turquoise. Good shapes — spread-out fans, like dragon scales.

No. Not real Chinese dragon, not really … still…

It has good look to me. American Western Chinese dragon, maybe — for American Western Chinese magic. I turn dragon over and over in my hands and I cannot remember now why I thought these things did not go together — why I thought you were one or you were other only.

I feel the quiet — Missa Adam quiet; Missa Hoss now, too, because Missa Adam is.

I feel Missa Adam's eyes and I look at him. See … many things. Heart not so well hidden after all but to see it must have wise, sharp eyes — like dragon.

Later, we will talk about what I see, but now I see his worry — always worry, this one — so I look very stern.

"Worse dragon dance I ever see," I tell them. "You listen to nothing I teach you? Two people is for lion dance. Dragon dance, always more. Here."

I put my head in dragon head. Good fit.

"Missa Adam, you dragon back. Missa Hoss, you make good tail, I think. Now, follow me."

Boys scramble under quilt.

When in place I start dance — slow first, then faster.

Almost I hear the pipes and cymbals as we dance, and through the broken bottles of the dragon eyes I see…oh, many things.

_TBC_

_Thank you, Tauna!_

_And thank you, pookaire! It will definitely be finished. I'm trying to time it to finish on the day of the Lantern Festival (I know - I'm such a geek!) Thank you for your kind words - I'm so glad you're enjoying it!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Missa Hoss is folding quilt and Missa Adam is taking dragon head from broom — very careful. "Guess I should put this on the kindling pile like I was supposed to."

My brows jump up. "Burn? Why?" I take from him, look some more. "Hop Sing like keep."

"Really?" Missa Adam smile — little boy smile for once. "How come?"

Thoughts are winging in my head like wild birds.

How to explain? Dragon head show me … what? That to be American Western Chinaman is maybe not to lose anything at all? Dragon dance has worked its magic; not just against illness of Missy Cartwright, against my illness, too — that illness of the heart that has no name.

My eyes drift from little Hoss, making mess of quilt folding, to Missa Adam, watching me with question in eyes.

No. I think I have lost nothing. Gained much. Very much. But now maybe before New Year come I have small debt to settle after all.

"Come," I say in answer. "Almost New Year. Much to do."

The little Hoss bring me quilt. Is big mess.

I smile and bow my thanks.

He skip away to try to open barn door.

Missa Adam go to follow, but I touch arm. "Missa Adam." I drop to crouch to see his eyes better, cradling dragon head. "You bring quilt and things out here last night?"

His face go bright red.

I pretend not notice.

"Here is what I am thinking. This practicing to stay up late — not work so good?"

He drop eyes now and I know I am not mistaken.

I nod. "I have different plan. Tonight maybe go to bed early instead, get much extra sleep. Then tomorrow night, for eve of New Year, stay up all night — easy! Not even sleepy."

He look at me, face fighting with both shame of my discovery and hope of my help.

"I thinking also maybe Missa Hoss go bed early too; take nap tomorrow, stay up late too — maybe all night. Double lucky. Parents live — oh, forever."

His eyes now bright with relief and gratitude both. "You think that would work?"

I shrug. "I think work better. We see." I look hard at him. "Of course, is only superstition." Hold up my prize. "Like dragon dance."

He give me look. "But is tradition thousands and thousands of year old. What harm?"

I laugh out loud. I do not think he know he echo my voice and not just my words.

"What harm?" I agree. "What harm?" Small price to pay for hope, maybe.

I brush my hand through his hair as I stand. This one need haircut, too. "Come, come. Much to do."

I open door for Hoss, and he bounce ahead then back to us, like puppy. "Hop Sing, d'ya think our dragon dance made Ma better?"

I think, very serious. "Who can say? But you know …" I give Missa Adam sly wink. "Last time I check? She seem little better."

Missa Adam and little Hoss stare at me, then, whooping like savages, run for house, tumbling through snow and jumping up again.

"Wait, wait!" I call after them, anxious, stern. "Missy Cartwright sick! Need rest! Not need noisy little boys in room."

They stop on porch, faces now sad and still.

_Ai, ya_.

"But, maybe …" I say slowly, thinking, "quiet, polite little boys she could have in room. For minute, maybe."

Faces bright again, they stumble in door, running over floor.

"Wait! Take off wet things! Look at tracks on floor!"

Too late — they are halfway up staircase now.

"You crazy? You call this quiet? Very noisy! Stop!"

They stop on stairs, look at me.

I look at tracks. Sigh.

_Ai._

"Go, go. But quiet. Very quiet!"

Obedient, they creep up stairs.

Even with wet tracks, I find I am smiling. Take off own outdoor things, go to check on tiny one, just waking up. Missy Cartwright like see this one too I think, so I pick him up, go to kitchen to fix soy milk. Tiny one like my soy milk and I am maybe little smug for this. I have won this time, I think — beaten hard land this time.

Milk almost ready and he pull at my shirt, impatient.

"You wait," I tell him, bouncing him. "Milk not come from me — am only cook, not you _sau nai-nai_."

He look at me with bright eyes then push fist in mouth and suck, cooing loudly.

I shake my head. I do not think that he believe me, this one.

Not sure I believe me either.

_TBC_

_Thanks, Tauna. Hop Sing is a wise man._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Is later while boys are cleaning up mess on floor that I pull trunk from under bed and lift lid to look. Many things, packed carefully away and carried to this place — hidden, like my hopes for New Year. I pull them out, one by one.

Red paper and gold ink — this is good. Red candles. A few firecrackers — boys will like. Candied lotus seed and candied melon and some candied coconut … rest of the _Chuen-ho_ — tray of sweets — I will have to create. We have honey and some oranges Missa Cartwright's friend bring from California …will be American Western Chinese _Chuen-ho_, then. One or two of bad-laying chickens for supper maybe; chickens for New Year supper mean prosperity in New Year.

I hear running scamper of feet and sigh. This family. Never quiet.

Little Missa Hoss appear at my door.

"Hop Sing! We cleaned the floor real good!" He see me at trunk and come in to look. "What's that?"

"For New Year celebration. I show you. You and Missa Adam can make while I kill chickens — then you want help Hop Sing cook?"

"Yes!"

I smile. Food and this one — always food. I see he is thinking hard.

"But why are we cookin' now if New Year's Eve ain't till tomorrow?"

"Must cook now; cannot touch knives at start of New Year. Might cut luck." His hair is in eyes and I push it back. "Cannot cut hair either or might cut prosperity. Before bed, I cut hair for both you and brotha."

He look serious. "Sure are a lot of rules."

"Very fine rules for making New Year. You see."

I hand him paper to carry and go to break bad news to chickens that they greet New Year from our stomachs, not their nests.

0

Is new and is familiar at same time, this feeling — this rush and bustle and excitement for entrance of New Year. Sounds are different — some smells too — but feelings are same.

We have hung pine over door to ensure long life for all who enter there — that part easy; plenty pine here. Missa Adam sit at kitchen table and paint Chinese characters I show him on red paper to create _fai chun_ to hang on walls and bring New Year blessings. He is very clever at this — could maybe write Chinese with much practice. Little Missa Hoss help me cook until I think maybe I get nothing done with so much help.

Missa Adam see and call him over to watch him work.

Chickens done, and I place on sideboard to cool. Missa Hoss run over to look.

"Not too close!" I tell him. "Hot."

His face screw up tight, like monkey. "You forgot ta take off the head and feet!"

"Not forget — must have whole chicken. Symbolize family unity in New Year."

"We gonna eat the head and feet?"

First time I see little Hoss doubtful about food I think.

Before I answer, Missa Adam call him. "Hey, Hoss! I could use a hand here."

Little Hoss run back to Missa Adam, who give him some red paper.

When he is busy I catch Missa Adam's eye and bow my thanks.

He grin at me.

I look around kitchen. Much done, I think. I can use leftover chicken carcass to make broth for Missy Cartwright, too. I look to see how Missa Adam do.

"Missa Hoss, you make _fai chun_ too?"

Missa Hoss shake head so that fine hair fly about. "I'm makin' flowers. You said there should be flowers openin' on New Year's Day."

I look at him, then look at brother, feeling tightness around my heart. Such a small one — how does he remember this?

Missa Hoss hold up his paper flowers. "Do ya like 'em?"

Not look much like plum blossom or peony — not look much like any living flower I ever see.

"Very beautiful," I tell him at last. "Bloom all time — what could be luckier?"

Missa Hoss smile like sunbeam. "Where do we put 'em?"

"Look very nice by mothers' pictures I am thinking. Is good day to honor ancestors. Maybe keep one for Missy Cartwright; good day to honor parents, too."

The little Hoss jump up. "Kin I bring 'em to her?"

_Ai, what I start?_

"Yes, yes — if she awake. If not, come back down; do later."

Missa Hoss run for stairs, clutching limp paper flower.

I pick up Missa Adam's _fai chun_ to study. "Very nice."

He look at them very hard. "Sure looks different from English."

"Very different. Very different thinking, so very different writing."

He sigh. "Wish I could read it."

I chuckle. This one's appetite for knowing like other one's appetite for tasting.

"Maybe someday. Someday know much, I think. We hang now, then eat. Remember, early bed tonight."

He cock head at banners. "What do they say again?"

I point. "This one say, 'May you have happiness and great fortune.' This one say, 'May you have wealth and treasures'."

Missa Adam nod, eyes trying to unravel mysteries of Chinese writing. "Are _fai chun_ always about money?"

I raise eyebrows. "Who say treasures mean money? Ask fatha what he think are his treasures."

His ears grow red like fire, and I know he understand my meaning. He look to window, filled with early winter darkness. "I wish Pa was here," he say at last.

I frown. A hundred times each day I know he think this, but never have I heard him say.

"You think Burl and Jake caught up with him?"

I am cautious. "Who can say? Snow very deep. Tomorrow, maybe."

His eyes stay on window. "I should have gone. They should have come and got me."

I purse my mouth. "You go with them, who watch Little Hoss and animals? I must watch tiny one and Missy Cartwright — cannot watch everybody. Much to do here."

He nod, but his eyes do not leave window.

I frown deeper. "Missa Adam. Remember what you promise me."

He give little jump, then hang his head. After second, he nod again.

I nod back. "Good. Hang _fai chun_, then maybe you set table for Hop Sing?"

I watch as he hang banners by door as I have shown him, then go to bring food while he set dishes around.

As I place the serving platters I praise his work and shoo him off to fetch Missa Hoss for dinner.

I do not want to embarrass him more, so I pretend I not notice he has set place for Missa Ben, too.

_TBC_

_I know, Tauna - poor Hop Sing is stuck being both mom and dad right now. We'll see if we can't get him some help!_

_And Barbara, thank you so much. I think any writer will tell you reviews are never too long, unless they're bad. Those are always too long. :) Anyway, I really enjoyed your feedback, and it's my birthday today, so it was a nice present!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you to all who stuck by this little story. I am surprised and touched at how many enjoyed it, and grateful to all who took a moment to tell me so._

Chapter 7

Is odd, what difference sun make.

Another day with sun and no storm and everything seem better somehow. Hopeful. Or maybe is that Missy Cartwright seem better — sit up and eat some this morning. Or maybe is eve of New Year, stretching out before us like unbroken snow, full of possibilities.

Fresh start. Leaving Year of the Ox. Entering Year of the Tiger.

I look around big room after my final sweeping up of luck for old year and think about my own fresh start in this strange and faraway place - little less strange each day, maybe.

Chinese New Year decorations hang everywhere, giving room funny look.

Not bad funny — good funny — like room big enough to hold many kinds of thinking in harmony. I sweep my pile of dust and dirt by door and pause again to read _fai chun_ hanging there:

"_May you have happiness and great fortune." _

"_May you have wealth and treasures." _

Need one more, I think:

"_May you be wise enough to recognize them when you have them."_

I will add later.

I am about to sweep pile out door when the tiny one start up wailing and I shake my head. Always something, this one. Was planning to check on brothers anyway — maybe he come, too. Warmer today — like fresh air, maybe.

I put down broom and go to pick him up.

He stop cry immediately.

Not hungry, then. Not wet either. Just want company, maybe.

"What you need now?" I ask him. "Motha betta. You go back with her soon. Make you happy, yes?"

He look up at me and gurgle, wrap tiny hands and mouth on my shoulder and suck on it.

I shake head. "What you doing now? How many times I tell you — just cook; not you _sau nai-nai_."

He coo like little bird and I sigh. No telling this one anything.

I open door with free hand and reach again for broom — sweep dirt and dust out, watch it scatter in light breeze.

Old luck gone. Ready for new.

I squint my eyes, looking for Missas Adam and Hoss. Hear shout and see them running. Frown.

What now, these boys?

Then smile when I see, head suddenly light with pleasure.

"Look," I tell tiny one. "Look who — what I tell you? First motha back, now fatha. Why you ever doubt Hop Sing?"

I see Missa Cartwright walking horse through deep drifts. Not alone; little closer and I recognize Burl and Jake and doctor, too.

Missa Cartwright bend down as Missa Adam reach him and hold him close, then lift Missa Hoss to carry him. Lucky thing Missa Cartwright big man, can carry his big-though-still-little boy.

Missa Adam take horse, walk alongside. I can hear talking, both boys at once, but not words. As they get near I see Missa Cartwright's face with all the worry of last few days still on it.

"Missy Cartwright much betta," I tell him at once. "Eat today."

Missa Cartwright give me quick smile, full of questions.

Doctor give his horse to Missa Adam, too. "That's good news. Let me check her over — no, you stay here with your boys, Ben. I know the way and I'll make out much better without you underfoot."

Missa Cartwright look uncertain. His eyes follow doctor, then find mine.

"Much betta," I repeat.

He nod, not convinced I see, but he remember boys and try to smile. "And these three scalawags — how did they behave?"

Missa Adam glance away, not sure what I say.

I give him small smile. "Boys very good. Big help to Hop Sing."

Missa Adam look at me with big relief, then at father.

Missa Ben grip his shoulder, then look closer at both boys. "What — have you boys had your hair cut?"

Little Hoss nod hard. "Hop Sing cut it — for New Year's."

Missa Cartwright stare at me, go white.

"Hop Sing," he almost whisper. "I'm so sorry. With everything that's happened I forgot…" He glance at sun, back at me. "It's a hard ride into town with the snow, but I think you could make it by sundown if you begin right away. Take any mount you like."

Missa Adam and the little Hoss stare at father then at me, faces suddenly gone empty.

I look at them and bounce tiny one. "New Year celebration last fifteen day," I tell him. "I go later."

Missa Ben frown at boys and lower voice. "But New Year's Eve is the most important day — you told me that yourself. A day to be with those close to you — family."

I think on this.

Both Missa Adam and Missa Hoss look at me. The tiny one has grasped my collar now and sucks it happily.

"Is true," I say at last, raising brows at boys. "Very important family day. We have many plans, yes?"

Missa Adam's sudden smile bright — for moment, nothing hidden — and little Hoss clap his hands. "It's true, Pa. Wait'll you see what we done! I made flowers and there's chickens what still got their heads and chin-hoes …"

"_Chuen-ho_," Missa Adam correct him.

Missa Hoss not perturbed. "Well, they taste good; Hop Sing let me have a little. Come on and see, Pa!" He squirm to get down, and father lower him.

"All right, all right - you two go ahead. I'll be right there." His eyes are on me. "Hop Sing … "

I shrug to stop words. "Few days, I maybe like go see Lantern Festival." My eyes stop on dark head below me, then light one lower still and I pause, look question at Boss. "Maybe boys like go with me?"

Missa Hoss jump up and down. "Can we, Pa? Can we, please? I wanna see the dragon dance!"

Missa Adam say nothing but his face is filled with same feelings as little Hoss's words.

Missa Ben look from them to me, then run his fingers through Missa Hoss's new haircut. "I don't see why not," he say, slow, then smile. "In fact, if your mother is well enough, I think we should all go. I'd like to see a dragon dance myself."

Missa Hoss hug his legs. "Oh, goody! Thanks, Pa! Wait till you see all the food! And we're gonna stay up all night! Come see my flowers! Come see Adam's fighch'n!"

"_Fai chun_," Missa Adam correct with sigh, as little brother duck through door. But he smile at father. "Thanks, Pa."

Missa Ben reach down and rub his head lightly. "All right. Why don't you make sure your brother stays out of the doctor's way for me?"

Missa Adam nod and follow brother inside.

Missa Ben reach out to take tiny one, looking at me. The worry on his face remind me so much of Missa Adam I cannot hide smile. He kiss top of tiny one's head then look after two older boys as though still seeing them. Finally he say, "Marie … she's really better?"

"Much betta. Docta tell you."

He nod again, jiggle tiny one and listen for moment to merry sounds boys making inside. He look at me again — not worried now, face filled with … something else. He cough, then smile at me.

"Hop Sing, I …" He shake head, looking happy and sad both. "I don't know what to say."

I shrug so he know I understand him. "Is New Year. Say '_Gueng Huei Fa Zuai'_."

He look surprise, then he laugh — laugh that sound like maybe partly tears.

"_Gueng Huei Fa Zuai_," he smile, putting free arm around my shoulders. "_Gueng Huei Fa Zuai_, my friend."

_Fin_

_And gueng huei fa zuai to all of you._

_Well, now you know, Tauna! Just as you wanted! Hope the story didn't disappoint and thanks for sticking with it._


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